


Brute

by DarkmoonBoar



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Armor Kink, Boot Worship, Dominance, Erotic use of Dark hand, Facials, M/M, Oops another literal take on fuck or die, Sadomasochism, Spanking, Strangulation, Submission, breath play, intercural sex, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:57:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8428747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkmoonBoar/pseuds/DarkmoonBoar
Summary: Warning: contains Ashes of Ariandel SpoilersSir Vilhelm violently confronts the Ashen One as he seeks out the truth about the Painted World of Ariandel. He agrees to let the Unkindled live, on a set of conditions.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Gotta credit NymusVarelle and another kind awesome person (oops I forgot your AO3 handle) for some of the ideas presented here.

Shrill squalling of panicked, dying Corvians flooded the Ashen One's ears as he ran past the gate at the far end of the Corvian Settlement into the graveyard area with the chapel and the large library. Immediately, the shivering former herald, newly dressed in the rather drafty garb of the strange fellow that lead to him entering the Painted World, dashed towards the large of the two brick buildings, drawn to the more inviting looking entrance. His skin prickled so much it hurt as though on fire; the Undead slave knight armor was hardly suitable for the weather, yet here he was, wearing it because it looked nice and actually provided a decent amount of protection against physical attacks. Even the spear and the shield in either hand were beginning to add to his discomfort, they were so cold.

It was fairly dark out, looking to be the beginnings of the evening at the very earliest even setting aside the thick clouds, and the snow and wind refused to relent. The former herald was completely miserable, between how the metal of his armor threatened to fuse with his skin and how the snow stung the back of his legs. He lightly crunched through snow as he headed towards the half-circle formation of pillars, towards the pale yellow light of the torches burning brilliantly on either side of the entrance. Even from the outside, he could smell the burning of candles within, as well as the faint scent of leather book bindings, old paper, and vellum parchment woven together like an intricate tapestry. It managed to overwhelm the stench of rot and the ever present sappy smell of wood.

Maybe it was because the torches were so very bright compared to the quite dim interior of the library, maybe it was because the damnable knight's armor was so dark, maybe it was because the Unkindled was far more concerned with getting warm, maybe it was combination of all three, but he didn't see Sir Vinhelm at the far end until it was much too late. He already strode inside, his boots loud on the wooden floor and the chainmail of his armor softly clinking and chiming more than enough to alert the knight of Londor.

When the dull, orange light of the lit candle stands made the edges of the knight's visor glitter like gold as his eyes adjusted, the Ashen One found himself shuddering instinctively in shock, as though he could leap out of his skin, out of time at any minute.

The near-black armor clad form slowly, proudly even, slunk out of the darkness and into the warm glow of candlelight, wielding the most bizarre, yet startlingly beautiful sword he had ever seen, the blade splitting off into woven braids of brazen metal. It was hefted over his shoulder as though it weighed nothing as he ambled over to the Ashen One, his deep, gravelly, froggy growling piercing the frantic music of the Ashen One's beating heart and the surprisingly soft footsteps of the knight.

“I've seen your kind, time and time again.”

While it was a decent sized library, not as great as the Grand Archives of Lothric Castle, the determined knight was making short work of closing the distance between the two.

“Every fleeing man must be caught. Every secret must be unearthed.”

Instead of backing up into the open where it was cold, he chose to strafe to the side, nearly hip-checking a table in the process. The gooseflesh of his skin tingled his skin no longer from the frigid bite of the climate, but from just how intimidating the looming figure looked.

“Such is the conceit of the self-proclaimed seeker of truth. But in the end, you lack the stomach.”

Now there wasn't much distance between the two. Sir Vilhelm stopped dramatically, elegantly twirling the blade off his shoulder before flinging it and engulfing it in peculiar dark fire that extended quite a ways from the blade. Fire shouldn't be black, and yet, here it was clearly being waved right in front of him.

He didn't need a second reminder to ready his kite shield and his trusty spear.

“For the agony you'll bring upon yourself...” he finally snarled, wreathing his free hand in red, swirling energy without even a flick of his wrist.

Even though it was a good shield, the kite shield failed to protect him from the seething, envious energy of the darkness radiating off the sword that seemed to burn all the way down to his core, burn all the way down to his soul, and rend it like fat. The swing not only had flames flicking in his direction but actually broke some chairs and even a table beside him and sent pages and books flying. Dodging the blow would have been a much better idea. He clenched his teeth together in agony so hard his jaw ached and his temples began to pound. Well aware he was in a corner, he darted back towards the middle, even if it put him slightly closer to Vilhelm— _Sir_ Vilhelm.

The knight took it as a sign to two-hand his greatsword, now simply just metal instead of being augmented by black flame. In the very hair of a second it took for him to do so, the Unkindled saw it as an opening, and not only kicked him to knock him off balance, but followed it up with a brutal shield bash, with enough power behind it that it actually made him drop the greatsword with a surprised grunt and a clang of metal upon the wooden floor. No one needed to tell him to kick it behind them so the knight couldn't reach it.

Sir Vilhelm stared at him through his visor as though stunned for a whole second before he lunged for the Ashen One with his left hand swirling with white energy, both his hands wrapping around the former herald's neck as he slammed him down onto the ground so hard it forced the air out of him and the weapons out of his hands. He sat upon the Unkindled, both his hands digging into his throat and draining him of energy with the Dark Hand. It literally felt like his life was ebbing away; he felt incredibly weak and light-headed, and not just from the lack of air or because of the pain.

“You fiendish, _stupid_ cur! You think kicking away my weapon is going to keep me from killing you? I think not,” Sir Vilhelm snapped, keeping one hand clasped around his throat while using his other to throw the shield and the spear far away, similar to what the Unkindled had done. The eyes of the former herald had gone wide as the knight emphasized his sentence by jolting him against the ground by his neck. He couldn't even make noise; his voice was robbed by being literally breathless as his windpipe was gradually being crushed. Between the man's sexy voice, between the fact he was _sitting_ with his arse on his crotch, and between how enrapturing it felt to have the man strangle the life out of him, the Ashen One's loins felt almost painfully upright and stiff.  Feebly, he tried prying the hands around his neck off of him to no avail.

When the savage grip on his throat tightened even more, he closed his eyes as the edges of his vision began to go dark and his rod hardened to full mast under the flimsy covering of his small clothes and the chain mail that extended far enough down to just barely cover said article of clothing. His arms fell to his side. He didn't even bother to fight back at that point, and even if he could, he felt too weak, too feeble. Right as he felt his consciousness fading away, right as the fingertips of Sir Vilhelm's gauntlets began burrowing into his flesh and most assuredly started to create bruises, he felt the weight of the lean Hollow knight and the hands around his throat leave him suddenly.

His eyes flashed open and he sharply inhaled, coughing as air began to fill his lungs once more. Sir Vilhelm was hovering up above him, appearing to stare straight down at him, as though once more he was lost for words. Then, his visor tilted down and he twisted his body in order to get a good view of what was below him. For a moment, the former herald felt an intense bout of shame as the knight most assuredly got a view of the tent in his armor that seemed to do nothing but frame his erection like it were a fine work of art.

Sir Vilhelm's helmeted head snapped back to the barely visible burning bright red cheeks of the Ashen One, his gaze and expression fully shrouded, mysterious, and unreadable.

The wait for any sort of verbal acknowledgment that this, this was actually happening, took an agonizingly long time.

“What a sick, sick man you are,” he spat out like the words were rotten, festering meat, “Getting pleasure from the life being snuffed out of you.”

But he slowly lowered himself down, seating his buttocks back on the Ashen One's crotch, but not even so much as wiggling. Leaning in close, he then muttered into the former herald's ears, “I'll agree to let you live if you leave the painting… but only if you please me, you see, and do what you're told like a good little deviant. Otherwise, well… I'll drain the life out of you and make sure you regret every moment you're still here and breathing.” His voice wasn't particularly seductive, yet the cold threat made the Unkindled moan wantonly and shudder underneath the weight of the Londor Hollow.

“I accept,” he replied with a hoarse, barely there voice, looking up at the knight with an expression no less frightened or aroused by their arrangement. He wondered if Sir Vilhelm grinned beneath his visor as his hands curled around his neck again, only slightly less vicious than before as the sharp tips of his gauntlets renewed the bruising in the side of his neck, cutting off his air supply and adding the delicious bite of agonized pleasure. The Ashen One's eyes rolled back in his head and found himself arcing his entire body up into the contact with his mouth wide open. One hand left his neck, and the sound of gentle rustling of cloth and chainmail barely roused him from his ecstasy before Sir Vilhelm spoke.

“Off with the hood. I want to see your face,” he barked, causing the Unkindled to open his eyes and look at the knight. In one hand, he held his completely hard cock, which the former herald was almost surprised it to see that it was normal and healthy looking instead of withered. It was decently sized, veiny, and had a large head that was beading fluid. Releasing his hold on the Ashen One, he allowed him to both suck in air as well more easily unfurl the hood. The former herald took in a deep breath and shoved the offending bit of clothing down, allowing the knight to get as good as a look as he was going to get in the dim light.

“Hmm, you're a handsome one,” he remarked as though thinking aloud as he took off his left gauntlet to languidly stroke his length, “You like it rough, do you? Want nothing more than me to bend your perverted arse over one of the tables and just take you as is, dry, just because I can?” The Unkindled stared up at him stupefied, his attention switching back and forth between the other man's twitching member and his dark visor. When no answer came, the knight used the hand not fondling his own genitals to rake through the other man's hair and pull it tight. Sir Vilhelm then hissed in irritation, “Answer, knave, or I _will_ kill you.”

Gulping in terrified excitement, the Ashen One said with a thick voice, “Yes.” The visor of the Londor Hollow cocked slightly. “Yes  _what_ ?” he snarled, pulling the former herald up by his hair until he was sitting up and looking the knight in where his eyes would be. He was fairly certain at this point some of his hair had been torn out, but couldn't bring himself to care. Gazing at him with eyes glazed over with want, he responded, “Yes, Sir.”

His mind didn't have time to absorb Sir Vilhelm grabbing him by his chest armor, lifting him up onto his feet as he stood, and forcing his chest down and his rear out on an intact table to their left. The cold exposed hand of the knight yanked the chainmail draped over his back side up, and the even colder gauntlet cupped at his ample, rounded buttocks before loudly ripping off the loincloth separating the knight from the tender parts of the Ashen One. “Why did you..?” the Ashen One managed to get out before it became strangled as the knight gave one of his cheeks a hard, loud smack with the hand still in the gauntlet. The icy metal felt like millions of cold fangs clamped onto his buttocks at once, and it even pinched his skin a bit where the seams caught at his flesh.

“You're not the one in control here,” Sir Vilhelm growled, sliding his body up close behind the Ashen One, then lowering himself to trap him against the table, “You're mine, remember? You agreed to this after I very nearly choked the life out of you. It would have been embarrassing for everyone involved if you had died and gotten your filthy seed everywhere.” The press of the man's member in between the cheeks of his ass was titillating and warm in contrast to the chilling feel of the armor. Sir Vilhelm's armored hand wrapped itself in the Unkindled's hair while the bare hand slipped down, down, down, until it curled itself around the former herald's prick.

The knight chuckled darkly in his ear and taunted, “You're even harder than I thought, and dripping wet, too. My my, what a naughty bastard you are.” He gave the rigid organ a few quick, almost contemptuous tugs, laughing even louder at the trembling of the Ashen One's legs and the moans coming out of his mouth. “Bastard? I think I mean _pissant whore_ instead, all mine to use and break,” the knight snorted before pushing himself off the table and releasing his grip around the other man's cock. For a few terrifying seconds, nothing happened; Sir Vilhelm made very few noises besides the occasional sigh, and with the knight's body no longer touching his body, he was now covered in gooseflesh from the chilling draft.

Then, he felt the same disturbing sensation of his soul being torn in half as the hand still in a gauntlet pressed into the middle of his back. Then, he began to claw into skin, incapable of piercing through his chainmail, but felt like they were searing nonetheless. The former herald whimpered, wanting more and more as he increasingly felt empty on the inside, aching to be filled in more ways than one. Fingers brushed firmly over the not-quite-wounds in an almost-massage, drawing more from the Unkindled until he felt giddy. Finally, it stopped, not before he felt a hand snake down between them and deftly begin to take off his leggings that hit the ground with a metallic clunk.

“I'm going to take you now. But don't think I'm giving you the satisfaction of penetrating you, because you don't deserve it,” Sir Vilhelm snarled as he lined his cock up with the opening of the former herald's bare thighs, “Besides, your thighs enticed me.” He gave the back of the Unkindled's thighs a harsh slap with the hand still in the gauntlet before slotting his length between them. His hands then clenched around the other man's thighs painfully tight to force them closer together, and he began to thrust. The former herald became incredibly conscious of the fact how heavy his now untouched prick felt between his legs as he felt the other man's beneath his genitals.

Sir Vilhelm then sighed loudly and threw his protected head back, “Maybe not as tight as an unprepared arse, but I'm afraid your release was never in the deal, and I can't see even accidentally letting that happen.” The activity was gently rattling the table and slightly jolting the books on top of it each time. Eventually, the candelabra atop it fell onto its side, rolled off, and hit the floor with a thunk. As though spurring the knight on, the knight bucked harder in between the bent over man's thighs. “Make some noise for me, Ash,” he cooed, stopping to grope at the Kindle One's buttocks, “And do start squeezing your thighs together for me. It's the least thing you can do.”

The former herald licked his lips, clenched his his thighs together around the other man's prick and replied, “Yes, Sir.” A loud keen escaped his lips as Sir Vilhelm reached his naked hand around and caressed his inner thighs clasped around his own cock before slapping the outer side of one of the thighs. The Unkindled grunted in anguish, feeling the flesh redden and heat up slightly in the cool, crisp air. One hand still wound around a thigh, he increased the ferocity of his rhythm and in this process managed to jostle books off the table. Though it wasn't stimulating him physically, in his mind he couldn't help but be positively thrilled to be fucked in a way he couldn't derive physical pleasure from. 

Hell, he would have preferred performing oral, and yet on the other hand, he couldn't complain, and so he began to babble in his desire and the pain blooming in his gut from being forced in such an uncomfortable position.

“Please, I ache,” the Ashen One begged in the most winsome tone he could manage, trying to gain leverage so he could both grind against the knight and stop the pain and failing when Sir Vilhelm shoved him back down. The Londor Hollow tsk-tsked before spanking him with enough force it made the table shake in response and caused the Ashen One to writhe and whine like a hit dog. He then sneered cruelly, “Even if you're behaving like a brat, I do have to say the view is amazing.” The knight gave the former herald's rear another quick, powerful slap before grabbing the back of his armor and pulling him up.

“Up so you can take off the rest of your armor,” Sir Vilhelm commanded sternly, letting go of the Unkindled's thigh and backing up, “And turn around.” A gasp left the Ashen One's mouth at the demand, standing up and turning around to look at the cruel man before him as he began frantically undoing the clasps of his armor and gauntlets. Once he had them undone, he peeled off his gauntlets, then pulled off the hood and chest piece before laying them on the ground with his leggings. Now that he was actually naked, he felt remarkably cold, and folded his arms across his chest as he shivered. 

Sir Vilhelm seemed allured by the display before him because he immediately pressed up against the nude Unkindled, the armored hand clutching at a buttock while the one without sharply pinched one of the former herald's quite erect nipples. “Cold, are we?” the knight mocked, the naked hand now pushing the man back up against the table. He didn't need to be told to sit up on the table; he got up on his own and promptly had his legs manipulated until he was slightly bent over on himself. Of course, instead of ramming his length inside the Ashen One, it instead plunged between his thighs.

And the other hand, no longer in its previous place, found its new home around the back of his throat. Out of the corners of his eyes, the other man could see the flickering of white and red light as Sir Vilhelm activated his Dark Hand. His chuckling filled the library as the other man's eyes rolled back in his head as it tugged on him, tugged him closer to death, not just through strangulation but through lifedrain. His muscles began tightening as it was beginning to be enough to crawl him towards orgasm; Sir Vilhelm let go and instead placed his hands on the other man's legs again.

It wasn't long before the knight began to pant under his armor, occasionally scratching up and down the former herald's thighs and leaving harsh marks that stung and would certainly bruise but didn't bleed. “You're so flushed. Sweaty, even, despite the cold, and your hair is a mess. Dear me, you're a filthy one. It's almost a pity you have to leave and I can't just lock you up so I can know your shapely legs whenever I so please,” Sir Vilhelm snickered as he continued to rut between the thighs of the other man, occasionally slapping the backs of his victim's thighs near the buttocks, relishing in how angry the skin turned. The former herald simply mewled, looking up at at the knight with an open mouth and half-lidded eyes, his rod a frustrated purple and still leaking, flinging a slightly sticky transparent mess every time the other man's landed another blow on his thighs. Though he couldn't see himself, his skin was sparkling with sweat in the candle light, a deep flush had settled in his cheeks, and his hair was thoroughly mussed, just as the man had said.

After a few more minutes, Sir Vilhelm pushed himself away from the former herald, cleared his throat, and pointed at his metal-clad feet. “Kneel,” he ordered, watching the Ashen One scramble to get off the table on get on his knees before the knight, looking up in anticipation for the next instruction; though he couldn't see it, the knight smirked deviously. Folding his arms, he nudged the former herald with a boot hard, enough that it hurt and caused the Unkindled to yelp. The man's hard member still peaked out from his dark plate and chainmail leggings. “Lick my boots,” he trilled, presenting the other man with his right boot.

He stared at it only for a brief moment, not even sighing when he got onto his belly to bathe it with his tongue, taking note how cold it was and how it tasted of dirt and old blood. Though gritty and disgusting, he made no protest, even finding himself gaining sick pleasure out of being demeaned in such an incredibly base way. As his tongue made its way up the boot, he began to hear soft but wet noises of flesh upon flesh. He got more of an eyeful when he looked up, watching the knight stroke himself with his bare hand and his visor clearly pointed downwards. Sir Vilhelm huffed, winding his hand through the Ashen One's hair and shoving his face into his other boot.

Once he felt his other boot was thoroughly licked clean, the knight groaned, “Now be patient. It won't be long now 'til I'll be painting your face. Just sit and wait for your reward.” The Unkindled opened his mouth, only for the knight to bark, “I want it on your face and in your hair as a reminder of your shame and I'm going to walk you back to make sure it's stuck on you the entire time.” Faintly whimpering, the Ashen One stared at as the other man pumped his fist up and down his cock.

The very apparent tensing of his body, the way he stood on the tips of his toes, the way his breathing came out stuttering, and the way his genitals briefly pulsated was all the warning the Ashen One needed before the knight splattered his spend all over his face and hair in several long, thick ropes. The wet and rapidly cooling sensation made the Unkindled's skin crawl, especially as it began to drip off his face. Sir Vilhelm gasped, giving it a good few more strokes before presenting the former herald with his softening prick, “Clean it and we can go after you get yourself dressed.” With his eyes boring into the slit in the knight's helmet, the other man, he tongued at the last bits of sperm on the slit, delving into the foreskin until it was clean, noting the subtle shuddering of the knight at the attention.

After dressing himself back in his skimpy armor, the former herald, his face still very debauched, perhaps even more so after he got the hood on, waited for the knight to fully re-armor himself. Resting his own greatsword upon his shoulder, Sir Vilhelm handed the Unkindled his spear, then his shield. “I hope you won't give me trouble as I escort you back,” he warned as one of his hands gave the other man's rear, covered as little as it was, a slap.

“I won't, Sir.”


End file.
